Chapter Ten
I expect it to be a long, winding route to Rula’s home, but surprisingly, Jack has taken me nearly to her front door. We’re only a few steps down the alley when Rula unlocks a large array of padlocks and lets us into her abode.
The instant I step into the room, I’m hit with a blast of heat, and rather than observe my surroundings, my mind rushes back through memories to a time long ago when this kind of warmth was once my normal.
A time when my little brother was alive, and my life was filled with laughter. Hope. A future.
That’s why I’m here, I remind myself. To try to get Kay a future again.
Maybe not the type we believed we would experience growing up, filled with balls, dire wolves, and all the wonder of the High Hold, but a future with full bellies, warmth each night, and enough money to stop people like Rula from using us to perform her nefarious deeds.
‘How long will this take?’ she asks, gesturing to a small stove in the corner of the room. ‘I have people keeping him entertained, but I don’t want him getting restless, deciding he needs to leave.’
‘It shouldn’t take too long,’ I reply. ‘I need some water, though alcohol’s better if you’ve got it. And a pan you don’t mind chucking out after. Oh, and a vial to put it in.’
‘I’m sure I have something you can use.’
As she moves towards the kitchenette and starts opening cupboards, my eyes fall on a large bowl next to the stove. It’s piled high with fruit. Crisp apples, dimpled pears. My mouth salivates at the very sight of them. I’m not sure I can even remember what an apple tastes like.
Sweet, I remember that much. Sweet and cool.
‘I’m sure I’ll have a couple to spare if you do this for me,’ she says with a smile that looks warm. But I already know there’s more ice in her veins than even the Issen have.
Spurred by the promise of fruit and trying to ignore the crippling unease that threatens to paralyse me when I consider what I’m about to do, I move over to the stove, taking the vial – which I’m pretty sure is one of my own – from Rula as I go.
‘I need a knife, too,’ I tell her as I reach for my bag. ‘And a chopping board. And something to cover my hands. Gloves.’
‘That seems a little excessive,’ she replies.
‘Unless you want me to render my hands useless so that I can’t finish this …
brew, let alone ever make you another, I’d consider it more of a necessity.
’ My voice snaps more than anticipated, and though snapping at Rula is never a good idea, I’m so tired that I’d almost certainly injure myself if I tried making the poison without gloves.
‘Fine,’ she says. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some lying about.’
As she begins to rummage in a trunk, I take my first proper look around the room.
Warmth and fruit aren’t the only items that convey Rula’s status and wealth. Her bed is a soft mattress with a fur blanket, and there are several other furs hanging on pegs on the wall by the door. Hats, scarves, muffs …
They’re luxuries I can’t ever imagine being able to afford again.
And then there are the locks on the doors.
Sure, I barricade our house as much as possible so that what little we have can’t be stolen, but here is a proper door, with bolts on the top, bottom, and in the middle, not to mention a large chain that wraps around the centre.
No one is getting in here without her permission.
‘These do?’ she asks, holding out a pair of thin woollen gloves.
There are holes in the tip of the middle finger and in a couple of the knuckles, but the knit is tight.
If I’m careful, I should be able to avoid any contact with the hemlock.
The last thing I want is any giveaway boils or rashes to alert Kay or, worst-case scenario, the knights.
‘They should work.’
As I set to work, it takes all my focus to remain on task. If I’d known exactly what I’d be doing, I would have spent the time with Ruben this afternoon sleeping instead.
Well, maybe I wouldn’t, but I probably should have.
The matriarch takes a seat – a cushioned one, I can’t help but notice – in the corner of the room and watches on as I cut the leaves into thin strips, which I then place into the pan, dousing them with alcohol before I set it onto the heat.
A low simmer only. Enough to extract the poison but not denature it.
That’s what I hope, at least. That’s how it works with other brews.
‘It needs to simmer for a little while,’ I explain.
‘Fine. Then go and shower. You reek. I’ll set some fresh clothes out for you to dress in.’ She gestures to a side room, and I can hardly believe it.
Rula has a shower, and she’s letting me use it.
A minute later, I’ve stripped and stepped in.
The water is cold but not freezing, and washing myself like this is a luxury I haven’t had in months, maybe even a year.
I’d love to wallow in the sensation, but I know we’re on a deadline, and having come this far, the last thing I want to do is anger Rula.
So as soon as I’m clean and certain there are no traces of the sewers or the deadly plant on my skin, I dry and dress in the borrowed clothes as quickly as I can.
When I return to the brew, I find that a dark brown tincture, remarkably similar in colour to ale, has formed at the bottom of the pan.
‘Are we good to go?’ she asks.
There’s something about her use of the word we that itches at the back of my brain, but I try to ignore it. I’m sure it’s just a turn of phrase. Or at least I hope so.
‘Do you have a funnel?’ I ask as I prepare to pour the brew from the pan into the vial. ‘So it doesn’t spill everywhere.’
Rula raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I look like I’d have a funnel?’ she replies incredulously. ‘I pay people like you to make my tonics so I don’t have to worry about stuff like that.’
Well, that’s me told.
Careful not to spill any of the brew, I pour as slowly as I can into the vial, only stopping when it’s full to the top.
‘There’s more here,’ I tell her, lifting the pan. ‘We should dispose of the rest. Pour it down the drain outside.’
‘Yes.’ Rula steps forward and takes the pan from my hand. ‘Of course. But you can leave that there for me to sort later. I’ll see to it that it’s not misused. We need to get going, or we’ll miss our chance.’
I hate the thought of leaving even more poison in Rula’s ruthless hands, but what part of this haven’t I hated? The part where Kay gets a job, I remind myself.
‘It’s done,’ I say, fixing the cork in the top of the vial and handing it to Rula.
‘Then we should get going,’ she replies. There it is. That we again. And I’m too tired to even object.
So far, all Rula’s told me about this man – apart from him being a murderer – is that he likes to drink, and he’s currently being ‘entertained.’ And as I have a horrible feeling I know what type of entertainment she’s talking about, it’s with a ripple of trepidation that I follow her out of the slums and into the outer ring, towards a large building with a corrugated roof and several women outside in scant clothing despite the cold.
Women. It feels like the wrong word to use given that half of them are younger than I am.
They’re part of the reason I’m doing this, I remind myself. For the ones like them who died. And to make sure Kay won’t ever join their ranks.
Inside, the tavern is in even greater disrepair than the one I visited in the fourth. There’s no bar to speak of, just men and women wandering around with trays of drink, offering them in exchange for coin.
‘That’s our mark,’ Rula says. ‘Frederik Provik.’
Somehow, I suspect I would have spotted the man even if she hadn’t pointed him out to me.
While the rest of the patrons look like they have nowhere else to go, this man has clearly chosen to be here.
It’s not just his furs or the silk trim he wears around his neck that make him stand out from the rest of the patrons.
His hair is slicked back, combed to perfection in a way no one from out here has the time or inclination to do, and other than the smudges of lipstick on his cheeks, his skin is clear, not pitted and mottled from the cold.
Then there’s the pile of coins in front of him.
If the sight of fruit at Rula’s had made me salivate, this is enough to have me outright drooling – and every other person in here, too, I suspect.
For a brief moment, I wonder why no one has made a move to steal any of it, but then I spot the knives on his belt and the one on the table in front of him.
Something tells me he has the training to use them.
Still, it’s not the money or the weapons that hold my attention the most, but the man himself. The way his eyes continue to scan between the young women as he wets his lips. It’s the same way a predator surveys its prey.
As he traces a line up one of the women’s arms, I watch her hold in a shudder.
Clearly able to sense the reaction, Provik doesn’t stop.
Instead, he pulls the woman dressed in black closer and whispers in her ear.
Her whole body turns rigid as a new sense of tension grips me.
I don’t need to hear what’s being said to know he is every bit the monster Rula said he was.
‘You need to get the vial to the serving girl in white,’ Rula whispers to me, her eyes not once having moved from the mark. ‘She’ll doctor the tankard.’
With each role I fulfil, the goal shifts, and I’m finding myself more and more embroiled in this murder.
Reading the disbelief on my face, Rula explains, ‘I can’t go.’ Her voice is low, controlled, and unbending. ‘I’m too well-known. I’ll watch from here.’
I grit my teeth. For Kay, I remind myself for what has to be the thousandth time this night. I’m doing this for Kay.
The girl in white looks at me and flashes a nervous smile. Clearly Rula has already instructed her that I will hand her the poison. I grit my teeth. No going back now.
‘It’s time,’ Rula mutters, as if I didn’t already notice.
With my pulse rising ever higher, I slip the vial into my palm and begin the walk across the room.
With every step, my throat grows drier and drier, and the way my hands shake, I’m amazed I don’t drop the vial entirely.
‘Hey, sister.’ The girl in white approaches me, taking me by both hands as if it’s some intimate greeting we’re sharing, while in reality she slips the vial into her own hand. ‘Come, fetch some drinks with me. I can’t carry them all.’
Like so many of tonight’s events, this doesn’t feel like something I can say no to, and as we move over to a tray of drinks, I understand her need for me. I can block the man’s view as she empties the vial into one of the large tankards of drink.
‘Here you go,’ she says, handing me the poisoned tankard. ‘Take it to Jewel.’
I look blankly at her, but her smile only widens. ‘Give it to her carefully, though. She’s already spilt two drinks down that dress tonight. Good job she’s wearing black.’ Her smile widens as the pieces fall into place.
So Jewel’s the woman wearing black. Something tells me this isn’t the first time the girl in white has had to speak like this – with hidden meaning.
‘Sure,’ I say through gritted teeth, taking the poisoned tankard and walking it over to the girl in black.
‘Jewel?’ The girl turns to look at me as I hold out the drink. She’s sitting on the left side of the man, and his hand is currently up her thigh.
‘Thanks,’ she says, taking the tankard and lifting it to her lips.
What? No! Panic grips my breath, and it takes all my willpower not to scream out. Doesn’t she know it’s poisoned? My eyes fly, pleading with Rula, begging her to stop it, and yet before a sound leaves my throat, the man speaks beside me.
‘Jewel …’ His voice is a low drawl. ‘You know better than to drink on the job. I need you to be perfectly sober for what I’m going to do to you later.’
A tense smile flickers on Jewel’s lips. ‘I was just going to have a little sip.’ She pouts.
A dry laugh resonates from Provik’s throat as he wags his finger. ‘No. You’re not.’
As he takes the tankard from her, Jewel’s eyes flare pointedly, telling me to get the fuck out of here.
This was all part of it.
Part of the play.
And I need to leave them to it. I need to get away.
I back away as casually as I can, which isn’t easy considering it feels like my heart is trying to break out of my chest. Am I a murderer?
No, this is not on me. I didn’t even know who this man was before Rula set this plan in motion.
This is on her. And him. He’s the murderous arsehole who killed Talia.
My hands and soul are clean. Which is something he can’t say.
Somehow my feet move one step after another until I’m once again standing by Rula’s side.
‘How long will it take to work?’ she asks as we watch on. He downs the entire tankard in one, and my nerves have never been higher. Everything depends on what happens next.
‘A few minutes,’ I tell her, not sure how true my answer is. And yet the words have barely left my lips when one of the girls is on her feet.
‘Freddy? Freddy! What is it? Freddy, sit up!’
As more women join in the shouting, Rula turns to me with an air of calmness radiating from her.
‘You can go now,’ she tells me. ‘You’re done for tonight.’
The relief is nothing compared to the nausea I feel. The churning disgust ripples through me. A man is dying only feet away because of my actions.
‘This is not on you. This is on him,’ Rula says, her eyes hard as flint, not an ounce of remorse in her voice. ‘An eye for an eye. He should have been blinded a decade ago.’
I try to nod. Try to accept what she’s saying. After all, if she hadn’t used me, she would have found another way.
But it still doesn’t erase the qualmishness that threatens to cause me to empty my stomach where I stand.
Unable to stay here a moment longer, I turn to move, only to recall the entire purpose of this ordeal.
‘Kay?’ I ask. ‘Her job. That was the deal.’
With a grunt, Rula turns back to look at me. ‘Bring her to me tomorrow morning at seven. Make sure she’s not late. I won’t get her another job if she fucks this up.’
‘She won’t,’ I promise. ‘Not a chance.’